


slow down, let it all slow

by Galaxiez



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Discord inspiration, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, One Shot, just wanted to try my hand at something new, soft, three picture prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxiez/pseuds/Galaxiez
Summary: “Why do you only buy used books?” Ava once asked.“Because, new books only tell one story. Used books can have so much more than the words written on the page. You get to know people who held if before you; the pages they dog-eared, the passages they underlined, the parts of the story they most connected to…I like finding the meaning hidden deep between the lines. Finding myself through the eyes of a stranger.”
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 7
Kudos: 138





	slow down, let it all slow

**Author's Note:**

> Was lurking around the Warrior Nun discord this afternoon and saw @HelloImThatPerson posting a Three Picture Prompt challenge. I was intrigued and bored with work, so I gave it a shot (though I took some artistic liberties and wrote a soft piece instead cause I needed a break from all the angst I've been writing lately).
> 
> So, this is just a simple snapshot of domestic Avatrice. We love to see it. S/o to the discord for keeping me inspired.
> 
> Here's a link to the prompt with the images:  
> https://threepicprompts.tumblr.com
> 
> I hope everyone's having a good Monday :)
> 
> Title comes from _Kiss the Grass_ by The Paper Kites

Ava wasn’t exactly known for her ability to _notice things._

In fact, she had a reputation for being pretty damn oblivious, even on the best of days.

But when it came to Beatrice, well, Beatrice had always been an exception. (Ava _couldn’t help_ but notice Beatrice).

So, when Ava saw the flyer on the corner of Thames and Church St. for an upcoming flea market the following weekend, Ava knew it would be the perfect way to surprise her girlfriend. Because Beatrice was a sucker for a good flea market (and Ava was a sucker for Beatrice).

When Saturday came, Ava dragged Beatrice out of their cozy apartment and into the brisk November air under the pretense of locating warm fall beverages and kicking through piles of fallen leaves, all while slyly directing them towards the flea market (and the way Beatrice’s eyes lit up when the market came into view made all of her secrecy and scheming more than worth it).

The market was bustling, despite the cold. Ava purchased two hot chocolates from a vendor at the front of the market, and together her and Beatrice wandered down the aisles hand-in-hand and sipping their cocoa while they admired the colorful booths and the fall aesthetic that surrounded them. They took time to look over hand-crafted jewelry and beautiful artwork and rustic clothing that Ava was sure Beatrice would look incredible in. For Beatrice, Ava picked out an elaborate hand-woven bracelet with a small crystal charm trapped in the threads (Bea pulled Ava in by her scarf for a tender kiss once Ava tied it loosely onto her wrist. She tasted like chocolate and fall and a warmth that even the constantly dropping temperature couldn’t distinguish). For Ava, Beatrice picked out a small art print of a grizzly bear flying in a hot air balloon that made Ava laugh (Ava had a thing for animal prints, and Beatrice’s indulgence of her interests made Ava fall in love with her just a little bit more).

It was the booth selling used books that they spent the most time at.

Beatrice _loved_ reading. Even more so when the books were old and creased and bared the evidence of years of use. Their bookcases at home were full of used novels and transcripts that were worn and falling apart and had belonged to someone long before they had belonged to them.

“Why do you only buy used books?” Ava once asked.

“Because, new books only tell one story. Used books can have so much more than the words written on the page. You get to know people who held if before you; the pages they dog-eared, the passages they underlined, the parts of the story they most connected to…I like finding the meaning hidden deep between the lines. Finding myself through the eyes of a stranger.”

Ava could understand her fascination (and besides, used books held a certain aesthetic that new, untarnished books could never quite reach). 

Ava liked reading too, though she struggled to select books on her own (but Beatrice always seemed to find stories for her that she thoroughly enjoyed). It was a common past time of theirs; Ava following Beatrice around used book shops while Beatrice stroked the spines of books, as if she could hear their whispered secrets with a single touch. She would pull out ones that interested her, sometimes holding them tenderly while her eyes skimmed the pages, other times replacing them on the shelves without a second glance. She would read passages out loud to Ava, letting her soothing voice drown out the natural sounds of the shop and transporting Ava to another place entirely; where it was just her and Beatrice and tangled words that had been forgotten long ago (Ava was constantly amazed how stories always sounded so much better when they fell from Beatrice’s lips). And whether they stayed in bookshops for minutes or hours, it somehow still never felt like enough time.

At the market, Beatrice was fully engaged in a tattered novel she had picked up. The pages had yellowed with age and the binding was basically falling apart in her hands, but she was beaming down at the book as her fingers danced across the pages (so gently that Ava’s heart ached for those hands to be caressing her instead).

Ava’s own fingers had landed on a different book, resting on the table before her. Ava only glanced at the title momentarily, marveling at the contrast of the faded gold lettering (written in French, she believed) and the plain, dark blue hardcover, before flipping the book open.

The book naturally opened to page 217. She couldn’t understand a word that was written, but there was something already there, tucked within the worn pages, long forgotten by a previous owner. It was a postcard, depicting an image of two women sitting together in an open window staring out at the gathering dusk of the city stretched out before them. It was simple, yet beautiful. And Ava felt something stir within her. 

She flipped the postcard over.

_Please don’t forget me and all the things we did._

Ava read the words. And read them again. Then a third time (she didn’t close the book again until they were firmly embedded into her brain). 

Ava didn’t think it was possible to hurt so much for two people she had never known and would never get the chance to meet (but she did, _oh_ she did). 

Ah, the beauty of human language. 

When Ava looked up again and caught sight of Beatrice, still smiling as she lost herself in the different worlds before her, Ava repeated the words out loud; a whispered prayer that was lost among the stacks of books and the steady beat of Ava’s heart (she didn’t think she’d ever wanted something more).

Later that evening, when her and Beatrice were back home as they cuddled under hordes of blankets while lying in front of a warm, flickering fire, books in hand and limbs all tangled together, Beatrice asked Ava about it. 

“Of all the books you could have chosen, why that book? You don’t even speak French.”

“It’s not about the book; it’s about the promise.”

“And what’s that?”

_“That I won’t ever forget.”_

Ava could have showed her the postcard; could have whispered the promise over and over again as her mouth and hands worshipped Beatrice’s skin. 

But instead, Ava left the postcard where she found it, nestled safely in between pages 216 and 217. 

(Maybe Beatrice would find it there one day. Maybe she would discover her own beauty in the age-old words. Maybe she would find that hidden meaning she was always searching for.)

So instead, Ava set the book aside in favor of holding Beatrice closer. The promise on her tongue and in her heart and in every way that her and Beatrice existed in this life together.


End file.
